


Irreducible

by Owlix



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Rossum's Trinity, implied polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1711346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlix/pseuds/Owlix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything that happened on Luna 1, Rodimus isn't sure where he stands with Ultra Magnus. He isn't even quite sure what to call him.</p><p>Set immediately after MTMTE S1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irreducible

“You’re so… small.”

Rodimus sat on the floor of his office.

Not just because he was exhausted, although he was; First Aid had patched him up into some semblance of decent repair and sent him away on strict orders to get some rest. Orders Rodimus had promptly ignored, of course. He'd come to his office instead, in a vague idea that he would continue his recent productive streak. His momentum had run out almost immediately after the door shut.

Ultra Magnus - Minimus Ambus - stood in front of him. _Irreducible_ Minimus Ambus, stripped of both sets of armor. He'd followed Rodimus to his office out of concern, nagging him to get some rest. He stood there now, with his hands on his hips and a disapproving, concerned frown on his face.

Minimus Ambus was the other reason Rodimus sat on the floor; the lower perspective gave him a better view. He stared, shamelessly intrigued and too tired to even attempt holding back his grin.

Minimus didn’t look away. He was smaller, his build and his voice and his face very different, but his expressions and the way he carried himself were all Magnus. Rodimus was embarrassed that it had taken Rung, of all people, to notice. Now that he knew, it was impossible not to see.

“Magnus.” Rodimus put a hand on his shoulder. It was like touching a stranger - the pattern of electromagnetic interference all foreign, his plating dense but far too small under Rodimus’ fingers. “Can I still call you Magnus?”

“I’d prefer it, yes,” Magnus said. Different voice, but his words had the same reassuring even rhythm. “In or out of the armor, it’s still my name.”

Rodimus tightened his grip and pulled Magnus into his lap, arms wrapped around him in an abrupt and eager hug. Magnus didn’t resist, although he could have despite his size - he was much stronger than he looked. He went still, weight pressed against Rodimus’ hood, allowing the embrace but not exactly returning it.

And maybe that meant that Magnus forgave him. Maybe that meant that, despite all of this, things hadn’t changed. Not really.

Rodimus was lucky to have survived at all. He knew that. And he had already gotten Magnus back from the dead. It was selfish of him to want the closeness back, too. After the lies he told, he knew that it was more than he deserved.

But Rodimus needed it. He’d already lost Drift. Their trinity had already been reduced to just the two of them. He’d thought that he’d lost Magnus, too. And now, to get him back again… He needed this.

Rodimus’ optics flickered off. He pressed his face against Minimus’ - against _Magnus_ ’ throat, nuzzling close, lips faintly parted against neck cabling.

Magnus went still in Rodimus’ arms, not resisting but not responding, the way he tended to do when he was overwhelmed, and it felt strange to feel that familiar response expressed in an entirely unfamiliar body. Rodimus pulled back to look at his face.

“Magnus. Is this all right? Can I still--”

Magnus kissed his still-open mouth as he spoke. And it _was_ Magnus - Rodimus would know that careful, considerate thoroughness anywhere, even with the difference in size, even with Magnus’ facial insignia brushing against his upper lip. Even with the uncharacteristic hint of urgency and clumsy exhaustion.

“Yeah, okay. I guess I can.” Rodimus grinned. “Message received loud and clear.”

A bit awkwardly, still navigating the sudden change in their comparative sizes, Magnus settled against Rodimus and returned his embrace. Rodimus took that as permission to touch. He was eager, fascinated by the newness of what he’d found, fascinated by the way that it was his. Rodimus’ hands felt too big against Magnus’ small, unfamiliar body, another new sensation. And Magnus responded differently, leaning into his touch.

“You feel… different,” Rodimus said. He was tired, all of a sudden. Overwhelmingly tired. Exhaustion and comfort and warm, welcome relief.

“I should.” Magnus’ amusement showed the same as it always had - a huff of air that passed for a laugh, neutral expression standing in for a smile.

“No, I mean you -- you feel more relaxed.”

“I’m exhausted,” Magnus said. “You’re exhausted too.”

And it was true, but it was also an excuse. Magnus was a bad liar, and a different body didn’t change that. After a moment, he came clean.

“I feel different when I’m outside of the armor,” Magnus said, with difficulty. “I suspect it must have something to do with the mind/body/alt-mode trichotomy. One’s perception of one’s self can’t help but to be shaped by one’s body and one’s alt-mode.” Rodimus must have been staring, because Magnus looked faintly self-conscious. “I’ve been reading Rung's essays on the subject. It helps.”

Rodimus didn't want to talk about Rung. And he still needed confirmation. Needed to prove to himself that he was still wanted. He kissed Magnus' unguarded throat, encouraging.

Magnus’ hands wandered - as careful as they had ever been, as relentlessly thorough in their touch, but much smaller. Much more agile. His fingers slipped under gaps in Rodimus’ plating that Magnus never could have managed in the armor. Rodimus arched lazily into the touch.

Magnus leaned against him, pressed against his hood, his little engine purring at an unfamiliar high pitch. Rodimus’ engine rumbled back - the deeper one, now. It made a knocking sound, faltering, then settled into a steady hum that occasionally rattled.

“Rodimus,” Magnus said, and the voice was wrong, but the tone was right - disapproving concern.

“First Aid said it’s nothing serious.” Rodimus grinned, pleased with himself for putting the crew first. “I’ve been triaged. They’ll get to it tomorrow.”

Magnus grunted his grudging approval - the right sound, the wrong voice, but Rodimus was getting used to it. Was getting used to the lightness of Magnus on his lap, to the pattern of his electromagnetic interference along his circuitry, to the way he tasted.

And the resonance of his spark was still the same. Familiar and comforting and warm. It tugged on him, and Rodimus felt his own tug back - a pull that built upon itself the longer they stayed close. They pressed their chests against each other in mutual want and stayed there for a while, acclimating.

“Your spark,” Rodimus said, soft. “It feels…”

Magnus’ optics flickered, his expression lax and his body limp -- utterly blissed-out in a way that Rodimus had never quite seen him in the armor. His chest shifted along transformation joints - Magnus’ plating trying to open slightly to get their sparks closer together, internal mechanisms faintly visible between the gaps.

Rodimus’ hood stayed where it was, unable to shift aside. He ached with the throbbing, building energy of his spark within its casing.

“It feels closer,” Rodimus said. “I always thought it was because you were so big, but it was because of the armor integration, wasn’t it? It feels...”

“Mm.” Magnus didn’t move, warm and getting warmer. He lay still, lax against Rodimus’ hood. And Rodimus could’ve moved him, but he didn’t. He stayed where he was. He allowed them both to simply be - here and now, close the way he hadn’t been sure the two of them would ever be again.

“Is this what it’s like for you?” Rodimus asked. “When you’re in the armor, and you hold me?”

“Similar,” Magnus said, voice staticked with exhaustion and bliss. Even speaking that much seemed to take effort.

And Rodimus had never really thought about it before. He thought about it, now.

“No wonder you’re so careful.” His grip on Magnus tightened, but only slightly, unwilling to dent or scrape. “I won’t be reckless. It’s my turn to be careful, now. My turn to take care of you.”

Magnus didn't argue. He lay still, face pressed against Rodimus' shoulder, engine humming softly and steadily, at that increasingly-familiar higher pitch.

 

 


End file.
